


Delirium and Doctor Sexy

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (mentally only), Age Regression/De-Aging, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Character Analysis, Closeted Dean, Comfort, Crack, Dean Hallucinates, Dean Projects His Insecurities, Dean in Panties, Doctor Sexy M.D., Fluff, Hunt Gone Wrong, Innocent Dean, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, No Sex, Oneshot, Pre-Slash, Sexual References, Unresolved Romantic Tension, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean got hit by a wave of magical gas while protecting Sam, and now he's curled up in a motel bed, watching comfort TV on his laptop and hallucinating. Cas hangs around to look after him. But Dean thinks the friendly angel at his bedside is actually his favourite fictional beefcake, Dr. Sexy, M.D.. With all inhibitions on standby, Dean might admit a few things about himself he never dared to tell anyone before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delirium and Doctor Sexy

**Author's Note:**

> Frankly, I have no idea why I wrote this. I don't even know what this _is_. But now it exists. It's a thing. Enjoy.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Hallucination weirdness, including some minor non-gory body horror (vanishing limbs, intangible body parts, skeletons); mentions of John Winchester's suck-it-up-and-be-a-man asshole parenting. Also, Dean and Cas don't get _together_ -together in this fic, although there is a definite romantic overtone.

When investigating reports of a weird supernatural gas, it paid to be cautious. That was why they had one of those protective HAZMAT suits, the kind with a domed helmet and a transparent mask and great big white gloves, stolen from a university’s science department. They intended to return it – really.

They only had one suit, and Sam volunteered to be the one to wear it. Dean had been itching to try it on, but it was a big suit, and Sam was tallest. The extra material would’ve made Dean clumsy anyway.

Wearing said suit, Sam entered a ramshackle shed at the bottom of a suburban garden. The attached house was abandoned, as was every house in the street. _Gone mad_ , the news reports said. The words _mass hallucinations_ had been repeated a handful of times in the same reports. Since scientific testing came up short of a reasonable explanation, Dean had figured it was time he and Sam got involved.

Inside the shed, a boxy black thing was busy brewing up its freaky green bubble-gas. That was what Sam and Dean had showed up to contain: Sam was going to put the magic box inside a bigger magic box, then lock it up tight.

Sam closed the door to protect Dean from the escaping gas. Standing dutifully outside the shed, waiting for his brother, only then did Dean discover the current potential for disaster. He spied a stream of gas bubbles leaking out of a cracked window. The stream moved fast, the way gas did when there was a _lot_ of pressure behind it.

As the gas sped out in a whistling green blur, Dean realised that if the shed filled up completely and it became too highly pressurised, it might explode. He wasn’t about to let that happen while Sam was inside.

The logical course of action would be to release some of the pressure. He could’ve broken a window, but who was to say something so small would help? Instead, Dean did the big thing, putting himself in danger without a second thought: he unlatched the shed’s wooden door, and it slammed open against his body like a punch.

A furious burst of green gas rushed straight out of the shed and into the sunlight, and Dean turned his face away, eyes shut, shielding himself behind the door.

If this was normal gas – poisonous gas, corrosive gas, even boiling hot steam – this would’ve worked. The gas would’ve diffused and there’d be no real harm done. But Dean and Sam had come investigating here for one reason: this was not normal gas.

The green bubbles re-grouped in mid-air, hovered for a bit, then turned around and moved towards Dean with what could only be described as malicious intent. Dean barely had time to peek open one eye and gasp, then yell, “Saaaaam!” before the bubbles swarmed him, pushing him back against the shed wall. At once, thousands of tiny chartreuse spheres popped in a rush against his clothes.

Dean was left soggy with green gloop, his favourite leather jacket dripping with a half-solid, half-gaseous substance. The particles floated down to the grass under Dean’s feet, sizzling on the exposed soil.

“Dean?” Sam asked, exiting the shed cautiously. He looked around for Dean, spotting him behind the door. Dean saw Sam’s eyes widen inside his helmet. “Oh, crap,” Sam breathed.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Dean said, looking at his hand. “Man, this shit is freaky. Hey, Sammy, call me Slimer. _Who you gonna call?_ ”

“We need to get you washed off,” Sam said hurriedly, taking his helmet off, unzipping his suit. “I gotta call Cas—”

“Whoa, there,” Dean said, grinning. “Since when did you wear Hawaiian shirts – and _shorts_?”

Sam frowned, looking at Dean, then looking down at his hoodie and jeans. “Uh?”

“Hee-hee,” Dean grinned, reaching to pick at Sam’s hoodie, leaving a smear of green behind. “You angling for a beach vacation, huh? What, you wanna check out some girls in bikinis? Or guys, in those little Speedos? C’mon, man, I don’t judge.”

“I’m not angling for anything,” Sam said, putting the protective gloves back on and using them to shove Dean across the garden towards the hose reel. “Stand there and let me wash you.”

“Hey, _hey_ , I’m fine,” Dean said, looking at himself and seeing all the gloop was gone. “Nothing on me. HEY!” He shoved his hands into the spray of the hosepipe, spluttering and blowing raspberries, head turning one way and then the other to get his face out of the water. “Quit it, Sam!”

“You’re hallucinating,” Sam said, turning the hose pressure up to full, aiming it at Dean’s exposed skin, which was definitely covered in a green semi-gaseous haze. “You need to stay still so I can get this off you!”

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, watching Sam spray small angry birds at him from a cannon. “Ow— Ow, stop pecking me!”

With one hand, Sam held the hose, and he slipped his glove off the other hand and reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. He speed-dialled Castiel, and held the phone to his ear.

Castiel didn’t take long to pick up. “ _Hello?_ ” he said in his low voice.

“It’s Sam,” Sam said, watching Dean start to wash his hair, singing under his breath like he was standing in a warm shower. “We’ve got a problem. Possibly a major one.”

⁂

“Stand up straight, would you?” Sam said, taking Dean by the arms and tugging him back off the bed. “Your clothes are soaked through, you’re going to make the bed wet.”

“Nooo,” Dean grumbled, flopping forward against Sam. All of a sudden he stopped staggering about, and he giggled. “You’re warm.”

“And you’re going to be freezing in a minute unless you help me change your clothes. Look, can’t you do it yourself?”

“I like these clothes!” Dean exclaimed, standing on his feet for all of two seconds before falling over backwards again. He laughed at the ceiling, both hands slapped to his forehead. “Sammy, look, I’m a worm!”

Sam sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Dean,” he said slowly, “do you need me to undress you?”

Dean beamed. “I dunno, do I?”

Sam wilted on his feet. “God. I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Come on, Dean, up you get!” He switched on his talking-to-a-toddler-voice, wearing a cheerful, encouraging expression, beckoning with a hand. “Let’s get you into dry clothes!”

Dean blinked at Sam in interest, and allowed his brother to pull him up to a sitting position. He watched Sam’s hands lift his shirt like he was fascinated by the movement, and he laughed in delight when the shirt was off. “I didn’t know my skin came off!” Dean cried.

Sam frowned at the soggy shirt. “Dean, this is clothing. You see me holding skin?”

“Uh, yeah?” Dean patted his chest. “I’m a skeleton now! _I’m_ a monster. Take that, hunting lifestyle!”

Sam snorted, tossing the wet shirt onto the tatty motel room carpet. “Let’s get those skeleton legs out into the air too, shall we?” He reached for Dean’s zipper and pulled it down for him, trying not to think about how dearly he didn’t want to be the one to do this.

When Sam had Dean’s jeans pulled halfway down, Dean kicked his legs joyfully and his jeans went flying. Sam let them go, turning back to Dean. He eyed his underwear. At first Sam was merely reluctant to remove them, as there were still traces of green gloop on them – but as soon as Sam realised what Dean was wearing for underwear, his alarm at seeing gloop became the quietest of his shouting thoughts.

“Um,” Sam said. “Dean, are you wearing... women’s underwear?”

Dean looked down at himself. “Cool!” he said. “It’s so shiny.”

Sam grimaced, doing his best to psych himself up. Dean was about to touch his own crotch, and that spurred Sam into a swift movement, grabbing Dean’s hand and keeping it away from the green stuff. “That’s not a good idea,” he said sternly. “Uh, let’s— Let’s make a game of this. You get those... panties...” Sam trailed off, distracted by the pink satin. He blinked hard. “You get them off without letting that green stuff touch your skin, and you get a point.”

“What are points good for?” Dean asked.

Sam squinted. “...Free hugs?”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Yesss!” Straight away, he began the delicate process of wriggling out of his underwear, using only the very tip of one finger to loosen the band before dancing – yes, _dancing_ – out of the fabric. Sam tried to look away, but Dean took offence when he thought Sam wasn’t watching to see if he cheated.

“Well done,” Sam said in relief, as Dean stood in a pool of soggy satin. “Now,” Sam reached for Dean, pulling his brother away from the clothing and towards himself. “Let’s put some clean clothes on you and then you can have your hug.”

Dean jumped for joy, and Sam looked at the ceiling because he saw something down there _flap_.

“Look, Sammy,” Dean said. “I got a helicopter!”

“No... no,” Sam muttered to himself, trying to look anywhere except Dean’s crotch. He hurried away to Dean’s duffel bag, shaking his head as he dug through the compartments and pouches, looking for a clean t-shirt.

Dean, surprisingly, had nothing clean in his bag. Oh, right – it was laundry day today.

With a sigh, Sam moved to his own bag, and he pulled out a neatly-folded grey t-shirt. It would be huge on Dean, but at least it was clean.

Sam returned to Dean, only to find him busily investigating his own penis.

“Dean,” Sam said gently. “Would you put this on for me?”

Dean looked up. “Do you have a robot arm too?”

“Robot...” Sam’s mouth slid open. “Dean, what you’re holding is a _penis_. Your dick. It’s a body part, attached to you. It’s not robotic at all.”

“So why is it hard?”

Sam closed his eyes. “Because you’re _touching_ it.” He looked away, holding out the shirt to his brother. “Put this on.”

When Dean took the shirt, Sam began a hunt for clean underwear. He couldn’t find any of his own – laundry day, _laundry day_ – but upon tipping out Dean’s bag and sorting through it, he found a piece of lilac fabric balled-up in a corner, which turned out to be a pair of cotton briefs. A cautious sniff-test informed him they were clean.

Sam wasn’t in the mood to wonder why Dean only seemed to own soft, shimmery fabrics. Sam could’ve understood a pair of silk boxers, but these were certainly not boxers.

“Pretty,” Dean said softly, taking the briefs Sam handed him. “Aren’t they pretty?”

Sam screwed up his face. It pained him that the real, goo-free Dean would never say anything like that. “Sure,” Sam said. “They’re cute. I guess.”

Dean rubbed his face on the briefs, purring like a cat.

“Ah...” Sam hesitantly reached for the briefs. “They go over your... robot arm.”

Dean wrapped the fabric around his penis like a tortilla around a sausage. “Like this?”

“No.”

Dean grinned, putting the cloth over himself like a tent. “This?”

Sam said nothing, just sat down beside Dean. “Do you need help?”

“‘Course not,” Dean said importantly. “I know how to put my own clothes on, Corporal.”

Sam watched in relief as Dean pulled on the briefs properly, standing up to snap the elastic to his waist. Then he fell over.

“Whoa!” Sam shouted, catching Dean before he hit the wet clothes spread on the ground. Dean laughed, his body drooping from Sam’s strong arms. With a grunt of exertion, Sam hauled Dean back to the bed, where he collapsed, giggling.

“What’s wrong with your legs?” Sam uttered, not expecting Dean to respond.

“I have Jelly Legs,” Dean said, as though the diagnosis was highly scientific. “And Jelly Arms, and a Jelly Brain.”

“I see,” Sam said thoughtfully, sitting beside Dean. Dean struggled to sit up, then he moved to hug Sam. With a small smile, Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s lower back so he didn’t flop over again. “What about your fingers and toes?” Sam asked.

“They’re made of toast,” Dean assured Sam. “It’s okay, they’ll be good with butter.”

Trying not to show his worry, Sam brought Dean in for a closer hug. He rested his chin on Dean’s damp hair, sighing out a breath between the spiky strands.

“I love you,” Dean said, rubbing his cheek on Sam’s shoulder. “I always wanted a big furry panda like you.”

Sam smirked. Closing his eyes, he kissed Dean’s forehead. “What a coincidence,” he muttered. “I always wanted a little panda cub like you, too.”

⁂

Castiel folded his arms. He and Sam stood by one of the two beds in Sam and Dean’s shared motel room, peering down at Dean. Dean lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed, tucked under the blanket, arms and legs out like a starfish. His bare feet poked out from under the covers, and he chewed on the end of a rolled-up dollar bill, then plucked it from his mouth like he would a cigarette. He blew out a breath, eyes following some invisible smoke that he only saw in his mind.

“Basically, he’s off his rocker,” Sam said. “He would’ve been fine if he hadn’t opened the shed door.” A muscle jumped in Sam’s jaw as he tapped his molars together anxiously. “When we started investigating this case,” he said thoughtfully, “I talked to some of the people who used to live around that area, and from what I can tell, this gas only affects the people who were exposed to it over _years_. A bit at a time. Dean—”

“Dean got hit full-force,” Castiel finished. He stared down his nose at Dean, the dips of skin under his eyes tightened up in a calculating squint. “There must be something angelic about the gas’ origins, or Dean would’ve recovered when I touched his forehead.”

“What are we going to do now?” Sam asked, looking to Castiel for answers. “If you can’t help him with your powers, who can?”

Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping down. He thought for a while, then looked over at Sam. “You can.”

“Me?!”

Castiel nodded. “The box – what did you do with it?”

“It’s inside a padlocked crate, covered in protective symbols. Still inside the shed. It stopped producing gas when I locked it up, but I’d say it’s just lying dormant. Like a tiny green volcano.”

“I can give you some more symbols,” Castiel advised, looking towards the nightstand beside Dean’s bed, spotting a notepad and a pen. “If the thing really is angelic in origin, if you paint these onto the hex box, it ought to kill whatever’s inside.”

“And that’ll help Dean?”

“I don’t know what will help Dean,” Castiel said, his brow furrowing. He sat down on the edge of the empty bed and began drawing. “But this is the best I can think of for now.”

When Castiel was done, Sam took the completed page of elaborate hexagrams and Enochian sigils. He examined them, recognising a few of their shapes. Then he looked down at Dean, who was breathing through the rolled-up money to make a strained inhaling noise, like Darth Vader.

“I’m guessing you want to stay here,” Sam said, looking Castiel in the eye, unsurprised when the angel nodded. “He’s not going to do much, he exhausted himself chasing pigeons in the park. He insisted they were miniature dragons.”

Castiel snuffled, a noise which Sam realised was meant to be a laugh.

Shaking his head, Sam turned to fetch his windbreaker jacket and his gun. There was no point sending Castiel away to add the symbols to the box himself, not if he’d made up his mind and wanted to stay with Dean. Anyway, Sam was sure Cas would do a better job of caring for him than Sam would himself, because as much as Sam loved his brother, it wasn’t possible to worry about him and fuss over him as intently as Castiel did.

“Look after him while I’m gone,” Sam said.

“I will, Sam,” Castiel said.

Sam left the motel room and headed for the Impala, doing his best to leave behind any misgivings about saddling Castiel with Dean in his current condition. If there were any complications, Castiel would be able to handle it.

⁂

Castiel sat on Sam’s bed, his trenchcoat splayed out around him, hands together between his knees. He leaned forward, his gaze set intently on Dean.

Despite his hallucinations, and his occasional comment of an nonsensical nature, Dean seemed fine. Albeit, he was uncharacteristically giggly, seemed to exhibit some kind of muscular weakness, and he’d become as easily distracted as young children could be – but he could string a comprehensive sentence together without any trouble. He had asked for coffee, so Castiel had popped away, purchased him some coffee from a vending machine, then popped back in a second.

“It’s bland,” Dean said, leaning back against the headboard. He sniffed his coffee again, then pursed his lips. “Eh, not the worst I’ve ever had.”

“Are you going to drink it?” Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Drink?” Dean looked at him like he was crazy. “That’s disgusting, why would I do that?!”

“Well,” Castiel started, “people often purchase caffeinated beverages for the sole purpose of consuming them.”

“Freaks,” Dean said, sniffing his coffee again. He smiled, then sighed. “Mmm, it’s so pretty.”

“You can see smells?” Castiel smiled.

Dean thrust his tongue out and licked the air, then settled back down, handing Castiel the still-full coffee cup. “I can also hear smells. This blanket is so filthy it’s shouting at me.”

Castiel put the coffee down on the nightstand, wondering what to do.

“Where’s the TV?” Dean asked, flopping face-first onto a pillow, then whistling a few short notes into it. “My pillow says it’s bored.”

Castiel separated his lips with the tip of his tongue. He looked over at the TV, which was situated opposite Dean’s bed, on top of a scratched-up wooden cabinet. “What would you like to watch?” Castiel turned the TV on with his telekinetic powers, not wanting to dig around and find the remote.

“Whoa,” Dean said, lifting his head and staring at Castiel. “Doctor, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do... what?” Castiel said, frowning at Dean.

“Magic tricks,” Dean answered. He lifted his torso properly off the mattress, positioned over his elbows, hugging his pillow to his chest. “That’s awesome. Do it again?”

Castiel looked over at the TV and switched the channel from the 24-hour news channel Sam had been watching to a cooking channel. Dean barely looked at the TV before returning his attention to Castiel.

“You do that on air, Doc, and your ratings are gonna soar,” Dean grinned, eyebrows up. “I had my fingers crossed for a sixth season, but seriously – you add more supernatural elements, and you’re getting a seventh for sure.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, leaning closer to the other bed. “What are you talking about?”

Castiel felt sure that whatever Dean said carried more meaning than the deluded mutterings of a delirious man. He was coherent still – he just forewent any explanation when he spoke, unaware that what he saw wasn’t real, and not realising that what he was experiencing was out of the ordinary.

Dean was staring at the wall.

“Dean,” Castiel said gently, drawing his attention again. “What is it you see?”

“This place is a total dump,” Dean replied, shooting a dark look at the wall. “The neighbours aren’t even human.”

“How can you know that?”

“Uh, because they’re birds,” Dean said, like it was obvious.

Castiel squinted. On a hunch, he got up, went around the bed, walked to the door of the motel room, opened it, then went outside. He walked five feet to the left of the door, following the motel’s upper walkway, and he stepped into a slanted sunbeam. The walkway ended there, and from where Castiel stood, he could see a tree growing beside the motel. It was a big tree with huge branches, and it was full of twittering birds.

Eyebrows raised, Castiel returned to the motel room and shut the door. Even with his angelic powers, over the sound of traffic outside and the banging from construction downstairs, as well as the muttering of the cooking show on TV, it was impossible to hear those birds with his ears alone, no magic. And yet Dean was still glaring at the wall, whistling at it. “Well that’s just damn rude,” Dean mumbled quietly.

Fascinated, Castiel sat back on the bed where he’d been before, elbows resting on his knees. “You called me ‘Doctor’,” he said. “Why?”

Dean snorted, looking sharply at Castiel. “What, is your medical degree invalid now?” His eyes widened. “Wait, did that mysterious nurse in season six really burn your files?!”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, I’m not a doctor.”

“You _are_ a doctor,” Dean said insistently. “You’re the best doctor Seattle Mercy Hospital’s ever had.”

“Seattle Mercy Hospital...” Castiel recognised the phrase. He glanced towards the TV, switching it off so he could hear himself think. “Dean...” He looked back at Dean, who had snuggled up in bed, ignoring the TV, instead entertaining himself by figuring out ways to fold his fingers into patterns. “May I borrow your laptop?” Castiel asked.

“Mm-hm,” Dean said, then gasped. “I’ve lost a finger! It’s gone! I’m down a finger! Nurse! Nurse!”

Castiel rushed to his bed, taking both of Dean’s hands in his own. “You have eight fingers and two thumbs,” Castiel said, rolling Dean’s fists out straight. “Look.”

Dean counted quickly under his breath, his eyes showing a very real terror – but then he relaxed, laughing in relief. “Oh,” he sighed, looking gratefully at Castiel. “That was scary.”

“I’m sure,” Castiel said, giving Dean’s hands a squeeze. “You’re all right.”

“Yeah.”

Castiel backed away from the bed, going to Dean’s laptop case, which was set up on the breakfast table under the motel’s window. Sunlight streamed through the dirty glass, painting lacy golden patterns across the backs of Castiel’s hands as he reached for the laptop.

He took the machine to the bed, and he sat down, putting the laptop on his thighs. He unfolded its top, minimised the online news article regarding the magical gas, then opened up a new browser window and searched Google for “Seattle Mercy Hospital”.

The first result was an advertisement for a war veteran charity, but the second result was a wiki page. Castiel clicked it, and gave a small nod, his memory refreshed.

“Seattle Mercy Hospital is where Dr. Sexy works,” Castiel relayed to Dean. “And Dr. Sexy is a character in the TV show _Dr. Sexy, M.D._.”

“Stating the obvious, much?” Dean grinned. “Dude, you’ve worked here for eight years. Seven if you’re going by actual time elapsed while you film new seasons, but it’s eight by canonical years.” He seemed smug that he knew this.

“I see,” Castiel said. He looked from Dean back to the web page.

Castiel examined a photo of Dr. Sexy, an image that appeared to be a candid shot of him speaking to a patient, but Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of the man. Dr. Sexy had long hair like Sam, strong features like Dean’s father, John, and he seemed bulky around the shoulders, much like Dean himself. He also had a short, stubbly beard, which gave him an overall friendly-looking appeal.

Without knowing anything about the character beyond his appearance, Castiel supposed Dean found Dr. Sexy easy to relate to, or to imagine himself in his place. He probably fantasised about _being_ Dr. Sexy. If Dr. Sexy had a medical degree he must be smart, like Dean, Castiel thought. And if there were indeed some supernatural elements to this medical drama, perhaps Dean enjoyed that too, seeing as magic was all Dean had ever known.

Dean was sitting up in bed now, legs folded under the blanket, hands in his lap. He was wearing one of Sam’s baggy grey t-shirts, and his hair was messy because it had dried badly after being blasted with hose water. He had a wide-eyed, fresh-faced, somewhat innocent look about him, and he smiled gently, staring across the abyss of the two beds, waiting for Castiel to speak.

“Ah,” Castiel said, gazing back at Dean. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, Doc,” Dean shrugged. “Better ‘cause you’re here. Y’know, I never told you, but you make me feel better just by existing.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, having confirmed his theory. Dean thought he was Dr. Sexy.

“You said you wanted to watch TV,” Castiel reminded Dean. “I can find you something to watch on your laptop if you like. You showed me how the other week.”

“No...” Dean tilted his head. “I showed _Cas_ – not you. Oh, Cas is my friend,” Dean added, smiling. “He’s a total angel, you’d like him.”

“Would I?” Castiel smiled. Dean had used ‘angel’ as a descriptive word rather than a definition, which was somewhat flattering.

“Play me some of your show,” Dean said, shuffling eagerly forward. “ _Dr. Sexy, M.D._! I’m on a re-watch. I’m up to season four, episode three.”

Castiel spent a few minutes configuring Netflix to play what Dean wanted, and then handed over the laptop. Dean grinned and kicked his legs giddily, settling back against the bed’s headboard, shoving a pillow behind his back. He crossed his legs again and set the laptop between them, waiting patiently as the intro music began to play.

Part-way through the intro, Dean looked up at Castiel. “Well?” he said, accusatorially.

“Hm?”

“I only watch this show when I’m by myself,” Dean said, wafting a hand in a shooing motion. “Go see to your other patients, Doctor. I’m sure they could do with your healing touch.”

Castiel stood up hesitantly. “You want me to go?”

Dean shrugged, looking a bit bashful. “I mean... I like having you here, and all, but... I... I dunno, this is kinda private.”

Castiel swallowed, pretending he understood. “I’ll be outside, then,” he said. “Shout if you need me.” He turned to leave, but he paused at the door, looking back. Dean heard the actual Dr. Sexy’s voice from the screen and he grinned widely, both hands clutching his cheeks. An incredibly quiet squeal of delight escaped Dean’s throat.

Though he was here to care for Dean, Castiel felt he was intruding. This was Dean bared to the very core, in a way. Castiel had never seen him vulnerable in this manner.

Stepping out into the sun, Castiel closed the door behind him. He rubbed his thumb over his frown, then reached for his breast pocket to get his cellphone.

He called Sam, at a loss for what else to do.

Sam took a while to pick up.

“ _Cas, hi,_ ” Sam said, when he answered. “ _Is Dean okay?_ ”

“He’s... fine, I suppose,” Castiel said. “He thinks I’m Dr. Sexy.”

Sam paused, then he laughed. He sobered quickly, although a chuckle remained in his voice as he said, “ _I can see that._ ”

“Can you?” Castiel looked around. “Where are you?”

“ _I’m in the car, I’m outside the house with the shed,_ ” Sam said.

“So how can you see me?”

“ _What? Cas, no. I meant I can understand why Dean mistook you for Dr. Sexy._ ”

“Why is that?”

“ _Well, you’re both... you know. Tall. Good-looking. Caring types, with a dark edge – he’s drawn to people like that._ ”

“Hm,” Castiel said, watching construction workers carrying planks of wood from one side of the parking lot to the other, shouting instructions to one another. Castiel stood straight, inhaling as he turned back to look at the closed motel room door. “Dean’s watching the doctor show now,” he told Sam. “Whatever he was infected with, it seems to have increased his sensory ability, as well as given him some kind of synesthesia. I can’t be sure how much of those abilities are auditory-visual hallucinations, but it does seem notable.”

“ _See how it goes, I guess,_ ” Sam said. He huffed, a rustling coming from his end of the call. “ _Me, I’m gonna put this suit back on and dive in for another round with the hex box._ ”

“Be careful,” Castiel warned.

“ _Always,_ ” Sam smiled. “ _See you later, Cas._ ”

“All right. Bye, Sam.” Castiel waited for Sam to hang up first, then slipped the phone back into his pocket. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of autumn decay, then he let it go, leaning back against the walkway barrier. He watched the motel door, maintaining his awareness of Dean inside. If anything changed, he would know.

⁂

“NOOOO!”

Castiel slammed open the door and rushed inside, responding to the shout.

Dean was lying flat on his back, sobbing, both hands over his eyes. The laptop was at the foot of the bed, kicked away.

“Dean... Dean, sit up,” Castiel said urgently, rushing to his bedside and sliding himself under Dean’s head, cradling his torso. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

“It— The... You were—” Dean sniffled and rolled over, hugging Castiel’s thigh. In a soggy, tear-thick voice, he cried, “The episode ended on a cliffhanger! You were gonna get shot. I don’t wanna watch any more, I’m scared.”

Castiel sighed, stroking one hands through Dean’s tufty hair. “I’m all right. Dr. Sexy, he’ll be fine too. He’s the title character; he wouldn’t be written off his own show mid-season.”

“Hm,” Dean said, wiping his runny nose on Castiel’s suit pants. “You smell good.”

Castiel grinned. “Oh?”

“Mm-hm.” Dean breathed in deeply, then exhaled, squeezing Castiel’s thigh. “You smell like Cas does.”

Castiel chuckled. “That’s because I am Cas, Dean. You’re hallucinating.”

“Puh,” Dean said disapprovingly. “Cas doesn’t wear cowboy boots.”

“I’m not wearing cowboy boots,” Castiel said, lifting his feet up and looking at them. “They’re black boots, and they slip on nicely, but they’re not cowboy boots. I don’t have any cows, either.”

“You’d look sexy on a horse,” Dean murmured, getting comfortable, using Castiel’s thigh as a pillow. “I mean, you’re sexy always, but you’d look good on a horse in particular.”

Castiel peered down at Dean in surprise. “You think Dr. Sexy is... sexy?”

“How is that news?” Dean said bluntly. “ _Obviously_ you’re sexy.”

“But you find him... sexually attractive,” Castiel said cautiously.

Dean made a soft noise within a grin, and he scrunched up in bed, burying his face against Castiel’s thigh, hiding the sudden pinkness on his cheeks. “You’re so sexy. _So_ sexy. I— I don’t even know...”

Castiel’s lips parted in surprise. “I’d thought perhaps you liked him because he looked like you.”

“You don’t look anything like me!” Dean looked up at Castiel, frowning. “You’re, like, twice as muscly as I am, for one thing...” His eyes drifted down, and with a wobbly, interested smile, he lifted a hand and touched Castiel’s forearm. He patted a couple of times at the trenchcoat, then huffed. “You gotta take this weird fur coat off, Doc, I can’t feel you.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was right to play into Dean’s fantasies, but part of him didn’t want to resist. Castiel had never realised Dean had any capacity for sexual attraction to men, purely for one reason: Dean had kept it a secret. Since all of Dean’s time was spent with Sam and Castiel, and in that time he’d never interacted with a man in an obviously flirtatious way, or touched or kissed a man like he did women, Castiel had to conclude that Dean had never had the pleasure of doing so. If Dean wanted to touch a man’s muscular arms, then, being the selfless sort that he was, Castiel was happy to provide him with arms to touch.

Castiel shed his trenchcoat and suit jacket, laying them together over the empty bed, then sat back down beside Dean’s pillow. Dean sat up next to Castiel, thighs pressed to Castiel’s with the blanket separating them, Dean’s left shoulder pressed against Castiel’s chest.

Dean bit his lower lip, setting a hand on Castiel’s forearm. A breathy huff of delight flew from him, and he looked into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel saw his pupils were dilated. He was so... _trusting_. It was bizarre to see him like this.

“Your arms are really firm,” Dean said softly, fingers trailing up Castiel’s shirt sleeves, tracing his skin under the thin white cotton. “I bet you could carry me real easy.”

“You think about that?” Castiel asked, admitting to himself that he was surprised. “You think about being picked up?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, head ducked in a shy way. His hands played with Castiel’s, feeling the pads of his fingers and the round joints of his knuckles. “I just like the idea of not being the strong one all the time,” he said. “Not being the one who has to hold it together constantly. That maybe there’s someone who’d... I dunno. Let me...”

Castiel waited for the rest of the sentence.

“Someone who’d let me be carried,” Dean finished.

“More than physically, you mean.”

Dean nodded. “You, Doctor, you see people when they’re at their weakest. All your patients, they’re sick or dying, and they come to you for help. And you never... you never say being weak is like giving up. You never say all they need is a kick up the backside and a sip of whiskey. That was what my dad said when I was sick.”

Castiel watched with a soft feeling in his heart as Dean struggled to gulp, emotion getting the better of him.

“He’d also say that when it was more than a sniffle,” Dean said. “He’d say it when it was a broken arm, or a broken heart, or... a broken mind. Hafta pull myself back together, y’know? Be a man again.”

Castiel shook his head, stroking parted fingers against the backs of Dean’s knuckles. Dean gulped again, sinking down and resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish my dad was like you,” he said quietly.

“I thought you said I was sexy,” Castiel said, confused.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “But when people get married and stuff, they always marry people like their parents.”

Castiel tilted his head, but he couldn’t see Dean’s face from this angle. “I don’t see...”

“I just worry that anyone... any _guy_...” Dean shivered, breathing unevenly against Castiel’s shirt collar. “I don’t want him to turn out like Dad did, that’s all. Mom loved him ‘til the bitter end, and I always loved him ‘cause he was my dad, but he wasn’t easy to live with. ‘Specially not when he took his own cure-all remedy to heart, drinkin’ whiskey until he felt better.”

Castiel gave Dean a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t know what to say.

“You remind me a whole lot of Cas, Doc,” Dean said softly. “It’s not just that you smell like him, but you kinda feel like him. He’s got bony shoulders like this too.”

Castiel chuckled. “What would it take to convince you that I _am_ Castiel?”

“Hm,” Dean said. “Tell me something only Cas would know.”

Castiel raised his eyes to the ceiling, smiling. “You pray to me at night. Every night.”

Dean curled his fingers into the loose front folds of Castiel’s shirt, one fingertip poking between two buttons. “What do I pray about?”

“You say ‘ _don’t leave me_ ’,” Castiel said. “And I won’t, Dean. Not ever. I promise.”

Dean lifted his head from Castiel’s shoulder, and he gazed serenely into his eyes, thinking. “Nah, you can’t fool me, Doctor. Cas probably told you about that. You smell like him, and you feel like him, but you sure as hell don’t look like him. There’s no way you’re not Sexy.”

“What do I look like to you?” Castiel asked.

“You got a fuzzy brown beard,” Dean smiled. Castiel wasn’t always the best at interpreting Dean’s expressions, but there was no mistaking the look of infatuation he gave Castiel now, dewey-eyed, biting his lip.

“Would you like to touch my beard?” Castiel offered, jutting out his chin. With his right hand, he took Dean’s hand and lifted his outstretched fingers to brush his jaw.

Dean gasped, and his mouth stayed open. “Oh, you’re all prickly.”

“I don’t have a beard, Dean,” Castiel said, holding Dean adoring gaze. “Jimmy, my vessel, he shaved once, and I’ve never shaved again. It doesn’t grow. I’m an angel.”

“But... But I still see a beard,” Dean said, tilting his head. “It always looked so soft.” He set his head level again, and he looked thoroughly put-out.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel chuckled. “Perhaps I could grow a beard for you, if you’d like.”

Dean flushed. “I... Iuhmhm.”

Castiel laughed quietly, feeling his eyes crinkle up. It was terrible, but he rather liked seeing Dean this way. He was sweet, the way a child was sweet. There was no darkness in him, none at all. He was innocent again.

“S-sometimes,” Dean said, stroking Castiel’s face again, “I... I think about touching you.”

Okay, maybe scratch that innocence thing.

“Touching me like this?” Castiel asked, nudging his cheek further into Dean’s palm.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. But. Also...” He frowned and lowered his head, and that tiny blush appeared on his cheeks again. “I love the parts of the show wh— when you take your clothes off. Sometimes when you go to your office to make love to a nurse, and she takes her clothes off, I like that – but then you take yours off too, and—”

Dean gasped suddenly, sliding off Castiel’s side and hiding under the blanket.

“Dean?” Castiel touched the blanket mound gently, patting once. “What happens when I take my clothes off? I— I mean, when Dr. Sexy takes his clothes off. What happens?”

Castiel lifted the corner of the blanket, seeing nothing but two scared eyes peering back at him. Dean emerged into the light, his freckled cheeks taking shape again.

“I get turned on,” Dean answered, looking at Castiel like he wanted an explanation. “Like, _real_ turned on. Tingles all over, get too hot, can’t breathe. I even got totally hard once, just from lookin’ at you.” His eyes darted off to the side, then back to Castiel’s, worried. “Is that weird?”

Castiel swallowed. He’d never properly faced the idea of sexuality before. He had to use every scrap of common knowledge and logic to answer this, or he might hurt Dean very badly. Taking a breath, Castiel decided to reply, “Does it feel weird to you?”

Dean nodded. “Sometimes I think I like you more than I like girls. And I _love_ girls. So, like... do I love you? I shouldn’t love you. You’re not even real.”

“Dean... I think what you _love_ is the _idea_ of Dr. Sexy,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “Someone to look up to, someone... separate from your life, who you can still interact with in a way, whenever you watch the show. Someone who can’t be hurt by your actions. He’s safe from the disaster you face daily. But you can still learn about him like you would a friend, and be intrigued by his character.”

Dean smirked. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re literally hotter than hell, either.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Castiel smiled. He rested a hand on the side of Dean’s head, and was satisfied when Dean pushed into the touch.

“I do love you,” Dean said eventually. “Not like I love real people. But like I said, I’m happier ‘cause you exist.” He considered Castiel’s face, seeing another face entirely. “But as much as I fantasise about meeting you, going to your office with you – I don’t think I’d wanna live in your world.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugged. “The continuity issues would bother me, mostly. But...” He sighed, lying down with his face on Castiel’s thigh again. “I’d miss this world. Hunting with Sammy is everything to me. The crap we go through is a thousand times harsher than what happens in your world – but that’s part of why I love watching your story. I get to leave this world behind for a while. But then I come back to reality and I get to be a hero again. Villain sometimes. But mostly hero.”

Castiel set his hand on Dean’s head, treasuring his warmth.

“There’s other people I’d miss too,” Dean said. “Charlie. Kevin. Cas. They’re my family, same as Sam.”

“I’m sure we could each find a place in your medical-drama fantasies,” Castiel said.

“Oh, you already have your parts,” Dean grinned. “Sam’s the prankster janitor, Charlie’s my fiesty co-worker, Kevin’s the weirdly smart intern who follows me around, and Cas is the dorky long-term patient in the Intensive Care ward. And Bobby and Ellen are my foster parents.”

Castiel stared at Dean in shock. “You imagine me sick?”

“I imagine you stationary,” Dean corrected. “If you’re tied down with medical tubes and legs that don’t work then you’re going nowhere. And I get to come into the ICU every day and spill all my secrets to you. And you listen and smile and we exchange Christmas presents.”

It was strange, Castiel realised, that the most interesting part of Dean’s statement was not the statement itself, but the way he referred to Castiel as ‘you’, not ‘Dr. Sexy’. Castiel decided not to speak of it, in case Dean changed his mind.

“What about you, Dean?” Castiel asked. “Where do you fit into the world of _Dr. Sexy, M.D._?”

“I’m Dr. Sexy’s nurse,” Dean said quietly. “I’m his favourite nurse. When we’re done for the day, we go into his office... anh... and he shuts the blinds... and w-we do a private medical checkup on each other. Sometimes we do it twice, just to be sure.”

Castiel could only imagine what that ‘private medical checkup’ might entail.

Dean swallowed. “I watched porn a few times, so I know I’m imagining it right.”

“Pornography... With men?”

Dean nodded. He looked up at Castiel curiously. He squinted at him, examining different parts of his face for a few seconds at a time. “You got blue eyes now,” he said. “And Cas’ mouth.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, in total relief. He shut his eyes for a moment, savouring how grateful he was that Dean saw his real eyes and real mouth again, because the care in his gaze and his soft smile were both exclusively for Dean.

“Hey... have you got a dick?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s lips parted. “Uhm... Why do you want to know?”

“ _I_ have a dick,” Dean said. He rolled onto his back and pushed the blanket down to his thighs, eyes up to look straight at Castiel. Castiel’s breath hitched in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from tracking down Dean’s body. Dean’s borrowed t-shirt crumpled at his waist, and below there, he went pantsless. He wore underwear, thankfully, but despite his desire to keep Dean modest, Castiel found himself tilting his head to see the garment better. What little knowledge he had of human undergarments told him that Dean was _not_ wearing an item prescribed to his demographic by modern American society.

Dean wore lilac-coloured cotton briefs, with a scalloped trim and a tiny, _tiny_ satin bow, front and centre. The pattern on the briefs appeared to be floral, with miniature groups of purple flowers with green leaves printed at half-inch points on the fabric. Castiel recalled having seen this kind of underwear in department stores where they sold women’s clothing, all rolled up in plastic packages of five.

“Yes,” Castiel said, clearing his throat. “You... You are indeed in possession of a penis. A large one, too. Thank you, Dean.”

“Wanna see it get hard?” Dean grinned. “It’s like a magic trick.”

“Uh— No. No. Don’t.” Castiel raised a hand, shaking his head. “It’s okay, I know how it works.”

“Hm,” Dean said, apparently disappointed. He rubbed his stomach slowly, hand sliding over skin. Then his hand went lower.

“Dean,” Castiel said warningly. “I really don’t need to see you masturbate.”

“I’m not!” Dean said, offended. “I’m just feeling my skin.”

Castiel frowned.

“It’s tingly,” Dean explained. “And if I push then my hand – look! It goes right through!”

Castiel looked, but Dean’s fingers were merely resting on top of his tummy pudge, not sinking inside. “You’re still hallucinating,” Castiel sighed. He’d so hoped the effects of the gas had been wearing off when Dean saw parts of his face again.

Dean lifted his head up off the bed, eyes trained on his middle. “My hand’s all the way inside me,” he said, his voice shaking. “I could touch my spine...”

“No... Dean, your hand’s not inside you.” Castiel reached to lift Dean’s hand, then replaced it with his own, smoothing his palm over Dean’s abdomen, feeling body heat seeping between his fingers. “There, you see?” Castiel gave Dean’s tummy a quick drumroll of fingers, making the skin ripple and causing Dean to laugh. “You are completely whole.”

“Weird,” Dean muttered, reaching down to touch the back of Castiel’s hand. He pressed the hand down, but aside from squishing into him a short way, it went nowhere.

Distracted now, Dean slid his fingers between Castiel’s, sliding them into a lock, then sliding them back out. The movement made Castiel’s skin tickle, and he smiled.

“Can you sign my chest, Doc?” Dean asked, tugging on Castiel’s hand. “I’m a huge fan.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed. He’d become Dr. Sexy again, it seemed. “Why do you want me to sign your chest?”

“So I can get it tattooed,” Dean grinned. He sat up. “Do you have a pen?”

Castiel fidgeted, sure this would go badly. But Dean looked so determined that Castiel sighed and reached for the ballpoint pen on the nightstand. Dean pulled up his grey shirt and offered his chest proudly, his torso tilted right up against Castiel’s.

With a worried lick of his lips, Castiel leaned forward to write on Dean’s chest. He pressed gently and moved slowly, able to feel Dean’s heartbeat and warm breath against his hand. He only got three letters in when his phone rang, and he pulled away.

“Why do you have a bird in your pocket?” Dean asked.

“It’s not a bird, it’s a phone,” Castiel said, setting the pen aside to reach for the cellphone instead. He looked at the screen. “It’s Sam calling.”

“That’s my brother!” Dean shouted, snatching the phone. He looked at the buttons, found the one he wanted, pressed it very deliberately, then shouted, “SAM.”

“ _Uuuuh,_ ” Sam said. “ _Dean?_ ”

Dean leaned closer to the phone and whispered, “This bird is so _quiet._ ”

“ _Cas? Cas, are you there?_ ”

Castiel gently pried the phone from Dean, offering a smile to placate him. “Sam?” Castiel said, holding the phone to his ear. “How are things going?”

“ _As soon as I got all the sigils on, the box stopped rattling,_ ” Sam said. “ _Is Dean okay? He sounds... high._ ”

Castiel eyed Dean considerately, watching him count his fingers. “He’s still behaving like a child,” Castiel said. “I’d hoped once the box was contained, the effect would wear off.”

“ _No luck, huh?_ ”

“None.” Castiel let Dean play with his hand, exploring his cuticles, then pressing their palms together to compare the lengths of their fingers. “I must say, though, he is adorable like this.”

Sam laughed. “ _Adorable? I never thought I’d hear you say that._ ”

Castiel hummed a laugh, tickling Dean until he squeaked and curled up under the blanket.

“ _Um,_ ” Sam said, recognising that Castiel was distracted. “ _I’ll be heading back to you now. It’s getting dark out. You want me to pick anything up on the way?_ ”

“Dean,” Castiel said, reaching over the bed to ruffle Dean’s hair. “Dean, is there anything you want Sam to pick up on the way here? Food? A drink? Something that smells nice?”

Dean shook his head. He was lying on his back with his legs thrown back over his head, trying his best to walk his feet up the wall.

With a small, almost sad smile, Castiel shook his head. “No, nothing,” he said to Sam. “Just drive safe.”

Sam breathed into his phone’s mouthpiece, wordlessly acknowledging Castiel’s concern. “ _I’ll be there soon._ ”

⁂

Dean fell asleep surrounded by blankets on all sides, his t-shirt softly crumpled, hip bones bare but for the rim of his underwear. He looked peaceful. Guiltless. Like this, he was nothing more than a toddler, wearing a brother’s shirt too big for him and comfy cotton panties. Castiel half expected him to suckle his thumb in his sleep.

Sam and Castiel sat at the breakfast table together, Sam drinking a beer while Castiel watched over Dean. They shared a sober silence, neither sure what to say about Dean. This was a very serious predicament they were in, here. What if Dean never recovered? What if he’d forever given his mind over to this regressive state?

“You and I would be like his parents,” Sam said eventually, quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb Dean. Sam looked out of the window at the night-blue background to his own reflection, and he sighed. “I guess he’d get a second chance at being a kid. He always wanted another go.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” Castiel said. “There must be a way to reverse this.”

“Time,” Sam said. He looked at Castiel and smiled. “It does wear off. The residents of the affected street saw a complete recovery once they moved away.”

“How long after?” Castiel asked.

Sam shrugged. “Depends on the exposure. Long-term residents, it took years. Others, less. But Dean... he got hit _hard_. Unless we find a cure, it could be a long time. Or it could be never.”

Castiel blinked his acknowledgement. His eyes drifted back to Dean, who murmured in his sleep and rolled over, hugging a pillow, smiling.

“I’ll care for him until he’s independent again,” Castiel promised. “However long it takes. He told me... He shared with me a fantasy he had, about caring for me. Not in so many words – at face value it could’ve been seen as a cruel way to tie me down.”

“What?”

“He imagines me sick in a hospital, always there to listen to him talk. But I’m certain the core of that idea was that he was around to care for me. And I was around to listen to him sharing his feelings, so I could help lift his burdens. I was there to accept his... his love, in a way.” Castiel gazed at Dean, feeling emotion squeezing tight inside his chest. “I want to give him the same thing in real life. I can look after him. I can— I can be his parent. He wished for that, actually.”

Sam sat, confounded, but he nodded soon after. “I’ll take some time off hunting too. We can help Dean recover together. I’ve been meaning to spend time with him, accompany him to all the places he wanted to go... The beach, mainly – he’s been dropping hints for months. There’s never been a better time than now. This way he could really enjoy it.”

Castiel nodded, smiling over at the half-dressed man in the bed. “Then we’ll enjoy it together. As a family.”

Sam raised his beer bottle in a lazy salute. “Family.”

⁂

Dean woke up with ‘CAS’ written on his chest. He couldn’t quite remember why it was there, but he liked it.

⁂

 

 

_  
**One month later**  
_

Castiel held up his phone. “What’s this?”

Dean leaned forward over the breakfast table, eyeing the object carefully. “Your phone.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, putting it down. “This?”

Dean first thought Castiel was holding a twig weighed down with grapes, but he reminded himself of everything Sam and Castiel had helped him with this past month, and he was certain grapes did not usually make a sound like tinkling metal. “Car keys,” Dean said.

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. “And this.”

Dean looked at the grumpy-looking jackdaw sitting on Castiel’s foot. “A boot.”

“What kind of boot?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, and slowly the bird morphed into a normal-looking shoe. “Black, no laces, easy to pull on.”

“Good, Dean,” Castiel said. He met Dean’s eye, and he nodded.

“Still don’t think I’m ready for hunting, though,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “I can stand up for hours at a time again, and I can run – it’s awesome, but I’m still seeing crap that’s not there.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Sam said from the bed, where he’d been sitting to observe Dean’s test. “I can call you cognizant again, which is a big improvement.”

“Pff, yeah,” Dean said, folding his arms. “Now I’m responsible for my own actions, and ain’t that a bummer.”

“Well, _I_ missed you,” Sam said, grinning. “I have a brother again, not a whiny baby.”

“I wasn’t _that_ whiny,” Dean scowled.

Castiel grinned, tidying away all the things on the table. “You were whiny, Dean,” he said, eyes up to smile at him. “I can’t say I’ll miss you begging me to push you in the supermarket cart. Or stocking up on high-sugar treats you don’t need.”

“To be fair though,” Sam said, “he has done that all his life, that wasn’t new.”

Castiel chuckled. He gazed at Dean softly, glad that Dean gazed back with confidence. They’d formed a stronger bond over the past month, the kind of bond that came from knowing they’d learned everything there was to learn about each other, purely because they’d talked about it. They’d gained a deep, deep personal trust, one that neither man would dare break. They both valued their multiple hours of discussion every night, and the cuddles, and the hundreds of ways they’d found to make their hands hold on to each other. Even after the majority of Dean’s symptoms had worn off, they stayed intimate – whether it was out of habit or necessity, neither cared to question.

“I say we give it another week,” Dean said with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll see things properly then.”

“All right,” Castiel said.

“In the meantime,” Dean went on, “I’m down for throwing a baseball around a bit more. Kayaking. Rock-climbing, how about that?”

Sam had long-ago passed the point where he laughed at those ideas. Recreational activities were things they _did_ now, not merely talked about. “There’s a place nearby. I can book us for rock-climbing on Wednesday.”

“And the beach again tomorrow?” Castiel said hopefully. He beamed when Dean looked eager, and together they looked at Sam.

Sam chuckled. “Beach it is.” He paused, thinking for a moment, then he took a breath, looking at Dean. “Prime spot for checking out girls in bikinis, right? Or... guys? Guys in Speedos?”

Dean’s cheeks coloured and he rubbed the back of his neck, but he nodded. “Weather’s getting colder though. Might have to hit the gym. Show off my new tattoo.” He tugged down his t-shirt collar, smiling at Castiel across the table.

On his chest was the name _CAS_ , tattooed small and dainty, just the same way as Castiel wrote it. A pair of wings decorated either side, each one elaborate – and striking, like Castiel. It was a strange gesture, but Castiel felt confident knowing that no matter how many fellow weightlifters Dean checked out in the changing room, there was only one name inked on his skin.

Sam watched the other two in silence, always feeling like the third wheel whenever his brother and their guardian angel locked eyes and left the world far behind. They had something special, there was no denying it. Castiel could call himself a parent all he liked, but the truth was, he was everything to Dean. His best friend, his carer, his partner, his love interest. Perhaps Dean hadn’t realised that last part yet, but Sam was sure he’d get there.

Sooner or later, every feeling trapped in Dean’s heart was expressed in one way or another. Occasionally he needed a supernatural abnormality to infect him before he spoke up, but sometimes – most often – he just needed time.

Weeks, months, years...

Well, it wouldn’t take forever, that was for sure.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh. I don't know why I keep doing these things to Dean. Maybe I'm just drawn to the idea of him not stressing about everything all the time. To me, he's always a little four-year-old snugglebear who got taller and smarter and was handed a gun. It's nice to let him have that innocence again, I think.  
> Have yourself a great fortnight, folks. As always, there's new fics on the way. ♥


End file.
